


On the Mount

by x_art



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: William could simplify it, of course, remarking on the obvious: ‘Because you’re in the spring of your life and I’m in the winter,’ and let Arthur take it from there. Arthur wasn’t stupid. He would know what that meant.





	On the Mount

* * *

_“The twelfth battle was on Mount Badon in which there fell in one day 960 men from one charge by Arthur; and no one struck them down except Arthur himself”._

It was cold.

William found little purchase against the frosted, matted grass as he made his way down to the oaks that ringed the hill. The slope was rough and steep and he almost took a tumble when the toe of his boot caught a low-lying outcrop. He recovered his balance but before he could think not to, he muttered, _“God’s wounds.”_

Breath baited, chilled as the air itself, he waited for the sentries stationed at the treeline to shout a challenge or inquiry. As one they turned to him and marked him, as one they ignored him. He ignored them in return and continued on, grateful that Bedivere wasn’t present as he’d have something to say about the lack of professionalism on the battlefield. Even though the hill wasn’t a battlefield at the moment. And William had every right to wander about at night by himself.

Another thing to ignore, the allowance that ‘wandering’ wasn’t strictly honest, given that he should be up there in the warm tent with the rest and not down here, finding his way in the dark. If Arthur knew…

William shook off fleeting guilt and passed from the light of the sentry’s torches to the black of the wood.

Wending his way through the detritus of the old forest, he slipped between grey beeches and knobby-skinned chestnuts. The terrain flattened as the forest grew close. Now within earshot of the river, the air cooled even more and a trailing mist rose. It snaked coyly around his boots and leggings as if it were a living thing and he remembered a tale his nurse, Tegwen, had recounted after he’d been brought home in disgrace from staying too long in the woods.

Tegwen had drawn William to the fire and wrapped a thick blanket around his shoulders. While she dried his hair, she began speaking of a lovelorn stripling named Oswin and a wood nymph named Thiten.

As a boon for his sweetheart’s sick mother, Oswin had gone into the forest near Dinas Emrys to hunt for the seeds of a rowan to plant near the old woman’s house. Unable to find the tree or the seeds, he’d stayed out too long and night fell. With it and as if by magic, a thick, obscuring mist rose and confused Oswin’s path. He became disoriented, then lost and finally entangled in a thicket, stuck fast. But it wasn’t a usual type of thicket, or so Tegwen had said, running her nails across the back of William’s hand—it was the bower of Thiten.

Woken from her autumnal slumber, Thiten had taken one look at Oswin and decided to have him. By thorn and branch and silvered tongue, she’d drawn Oswin to her, crooning her spell. Oswin had become enchanted and then enclosed within the nymph’s beechwood tomb, never to be seen again. _‘So, don’t go out in the woods alone, young Gwilym,’ _Tegwen had cautioned. _‘And if you do, be sure to avoid the beech and ash for surely Thiten and her sisters will catch you up, just like that…’ _At that point, Tegwen had run her fingers up and under William’s arm, tickling until he couldn’t help but laugh.

As William had grown older, he’d grown wise to Tegwen’s stories, finally realizing it was his mother’s own cautions that had motivated his nurse. His mother had been singularly fearful; if it had been up to her, he would have never stepped foot beyond the kingdom’s bounds, would never have been allowed to accept young King Uther’s offer.

Unable to help the small shiver at the thought of all he might have missed, William wasn’t careful—he stepped on a dead branch and it broke. The crack filled the night and once more, he froze. One heartbeat and then two, he gripped the hilt of his sword and waited for shouts or calls. When nothing happened, he exhaled with relief and began walking again.

***

The encampment was where it was supposed to be, within sight of the river and right by the old standing stone. Though there was no one about, the camp showed signs of life: a staff was propped against the makeshift deerskin tent, a sheathed sword lay across a familiar wooden chest. A cob was tethered by a leafless linden and a stone-ringed fire brightened the small clearing. Removing his gloves, William went to the fire and held his hands over the flames. He’d been cold most of the day; the heat felt good.

“You are noisy.”

William didn’t startle; he’d heard her soft step though the forest floor was covered with a thick bed of dead and dying leaves. “No one heard.”

“Are you certain?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I’m certain. And even so, the guards will assume I’m walking the line or going to the privy.”

“And Arthur?”

“He’ll assume the same.” It was a bit of untruth; at this moment, Arthur should be where William had left him—surrounded by the men, dissecting the day’s engagement and planning for the next.

The mage made a sound that in anyone else would be called a grunt. She came over to the fire and crouched. Dressed in a woolen dress and a fur cloak, she was carrying something in her cupped hands. She set it down carefully. It was a baby crow, feathered but ugly and shivering.

“Where did you find that?”

“Where do you think?” Without waiting for a reply, the mage added, “It had no mother or sister or brother; it was too late a hatching.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

The mage didn’t look up as she got a length of cloth from her bag and then made a nest of it. “What do you think?” She placed the crow in the false cradle and stroked its head. It closed its eyes. In the fugitive light, it seemed as if it were smiling with contentment. “The King—how is he?”

There were two folding stools by the tent. William retrieved both and carried them to the fire. “Do you mean now that Elafius is on the run? Arthur is exultant.” He sat down carefully, as carefully as the mage had set the bird down. With the cold had come an unwelcome pain in his right knee. His father hadn’t lived long enough to need the aid of an oak staff but his granddad had; William could easily remember William senior hobbling about the castle, bent over and frail, growing more irascible with each passing year.

The mage twisted to gather up a handful of dry wood she’d stacked by the fire. She fed the flames. “The pretend king won’t be on the run for long.”

A flutter of wings and a swiftly moving shadow made William duck. It was a large crow; it landed in a tree near the tent and hopped closer. It stared at William. With one eye on the crow, William agreed, “We know. He’s got his sons and men holed up somewhere beyond Corinium. Once they regroup, they’ll return.”

The mage nodded as if in agreement and then said, “How many men did you lose?”

“Don’t you know?”

The mage looked up. Her expression was distant. “I would not ask if I did.”

Chastened in spite of himself, William shrugged. “As of three hours ago, five dead and thirteen wounded.”

“And King Elafius?”

The mage still had trouble saying the name; her English was improving but there were moments… “According to George, at least thrice that.” Arthur had allowed the dead to be carted away before the kites and crows got at them. Rubio and Bedivere had argued against it but Arthur had been adamant, saying the dead’s sacrifice should be honored with temporary peace. He added that such generosity would also smooth the way when it came time to parlaying with Elafius.

“Good. Did my sisters aid your men?”

“Assuming you’re talking about the healers that took care of the injured, yes, they did.” Still in position on the high ground with the other archers, William had watched as grey-cloaked figures drifted from the depths of the forest like wraiths in the pallid sun. It took him a handful of minutes to realize they were all women. Numbering at thirteen, they were accompanied by a flight of rooks. Neither group joined the battle. The women came to a stop at the edge of the ranging field and the birds settled in the trees. As soon as the fighting waned, the women began picking their way around the fallen horses to aid the wounded, dodging the occasional arrow and sword. The rooks had, surprisingly, stayed in the trees. “They’re not mages?”

“No, just women who have the healing touch. Mages would not dare set foot in the open. Not yet.”

“That is changing. Arthur is changing it.”

“We shall see. Our time might be over.”

William held his hands to the flame again, soothing the pang of grief those words brought. The world had felt the most right when mages and men had lived as one. He’d assumed that’s how it would be again. “You should be up there with us.”

The mage rocked back on her heels and then rose. She went to the wooden chest, retrieved a leather pouch, and came back to the fire. “No. Not yet.” She took the seat that William had provided and then smoothed out her skirts. “Now, it is important for Arthur to make his own mark, alone, so the people see his power.”

Weeks ago, when Arthur decided to turn his attention from Vindolana in the north to Verulamium in the south, his council had suggested caution. Yes, King Elafius had increased his raids, yes, he needed to be dealt with. But it was still winter and the going would be rough, as would the battleground itself, wherever that ended up being. Much better, everyone had counseled, to wait until the spring thaw.

William had kept his tongue, knowing the advice was pointless. He’d recognized the eager gleam in Arthur’s eye; Arthur would not to be brooked, not in this. That hadn’t meant, however, that William hadn’t also recognized the inherent danger of instigating a conflict during what some deemed an inauspicious time. ‘Some’ being, of course, Bedivere. Which was why he’d slipped away from Arthur’s confab, which was why he’d made his cold journey.

“You don’t agree?” the mage queried.

“No,” William said. His knee twinged so he stretched out his leg. It relieved the pressure but just barely. “I agree. It would just be easier if we knew where Elafius was, specifically.”

The mage sighed. “And you too, need to learn to do without me. I won’t always be around to save you, you know.”

William frowned. “What is it? Do you know something? Has Merlin foretold our defeat?”

“No,” the mage said, her voice impatient. “I have no information to pass on. My belief is that you will win this handily. You simply do not need me.”

“Very well,” William said slowly, his worry fading. “I’ll inform Bedivere.”

“But not Arthur?” The mage’s expression had turned fox-sly. “Why did you ask to see me? What cannot wait until our return to Camelot?”

Suddenly wishing he’d never sent Young Bran with a message for the mage, William hesitated. Yes, he’d grown used to conferring with the mage, yes, he liked and relied on her. But this…?

He placed his hands on his thighs and prepared his excuses and his departure.

“Has Arthur dreamed the dream again?”

And yet another matter of which he wished he’d never spoken: Arthur’s vision of the island with its apple trees and thick green grass. The first time Arthur had mentioned it, a skitter of unease had crossed William’s shoulders. He’d passed it off as mere superstition but the unease stayed.

That trepidation had grown in strength after William had casually mentioned it to the mage. She’d questioned him sharply about the details, then left for a fortnight. When she returned, she made no mention of her absence other than to pass on felicitations from Merlin to the King. Since then, she’d asked William of the dream only occasionally but—as far as he knew—had never spoken to Arthur of it. “He did, five nights ago.”

“The night before the court was to leave for Aqua Sulis.”

“The very same.”

“And how was his mood the next morning?”

“As usual.” Meaning Arthur had woken them both in the dead of night with a twitch and a moan and a swing of his arm. In an instant prepared, William had stroked Arthur’s chest, completing what the dream had started. Arthur had woken and lay as if dazed. And then he’d rolled atop William and they’d made good use of the soft mattress.

Afterwards, Arthur had dropped off leaving William to mull over the matter. At the dawn of the cold day, he’d convinced himself that the dream had meant nothing, a decision reinforced by Arthur who had refused to talk about it other than to say that if he wasn’t bothered by night fantasies, then why was William?

“This bothers you, that the dream means nothing to him?”

The words, so close to his own thoughts, to the event itself, made William’s chest tighten. But he couldn’t ask, ‘_Are you spying on us?’_ because it wouldn’t be a good thing to get on the mage’s bad side. “I haven’t thought anymore on it,” he said, another half-truth.

“So if it is not the dream nor the battle, why did you wish to see me?”

Caught once more, William prevaricated with a weak, “It’s nothing.” He made to stand up.

Quick as quick, the mage leaned across the short distance and grabbed his arm. “No,” she said. “Ask your question.”

Under her steel-like gaze and hold, William could do nothing but sit back down. “I’ve been thinking about the future.”

Much like the crow, the mage peered at William. “Don’t tell me.” She squeezed his arm, her gaze now sharp and more than a little accusatory. “Now that you’ve bedded him, you are having doubts. Now you are wondering about the kingdom and all the little Arthurs to be.”

William’s cheeks heated at her bald, perfect assessment. “Yes.”

The mage released him as if letting go of a prickly branch. “And you are thinking it is time to cut the alliance off at the knees and let it die a natural death.”

Now it was William’s eyes that burned but he held the mage’s gaze. “Yes.”

“And when it is done, when he is alone again, you will find some way to absolve yourself of the guilt and shame. You will blame it on the needs of the kingdom, perhaps, or those future baby Arthurs that do not yet exist.”

“I will do no such thing.”

This time the mage _did _snort, a sound filled with humorous contempt. “Why now? Why do you ask these things on the eve of another battle?”

_Why now? _William had been asking himself that very question for at least a sennight. Why not the year before, when he’d foolishly said, ‘Yes.’ Why not in the weeks after because he could have, he could have said, _‘It was pleasant but it’s best if we just not.’ _Arthur wouldn’t have argued. He would have taken the rejection with a grim nod but things would have righted eventually. Arthur was generous that way.

“Well?”

It had been a very long time since William had felt so out of his depth and he could only mutter, “He’s too happy.”

The mage barked a laugh. “‘He’s too happy?’” she asked as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears. “That is why?”

If it had been so long since William had felt so lost, it had been an equal age since he’d felt so stupid and an edge of anger colored his next words, “Yes,” he stated. “He’s too happy. He’s too content. He’s too invested.”

The mage sat back. “Inve— I do not know that word.”

“_Invested_,” William explained. “It means he’s dependent on me; I mean too much to him.”

“Of course you do,” the mage replied as if she were talking to a dotard. “He loves you. That is what love does; it makes you mean something to someone else. It makes you important to someone else.”

William rubbed his forehead. “This was a mistake. I should get back.”

“No, you will stay here until I can be assured you will not do something unwise. Arthur should not go into battle with such a burden on his shoulders.”

William dropped his hand. “You said we were going to win.”

“I said I _believed _you would. It is a very different thing as you well know.”

He scowled but didn’t move, unable to put into words the rock-hard certainty that he was playing with fire. That having all that power and beauty under his fingertips was too much. That if Uther and Igraine were alive and knew who shared his bed, they would indeed put his head on a pike as he’d assured Arthur they would.

But it wasn’t any of those things, he admitted with a silent sigh. The thing that had been keeping him up at night was his conviction that the inevitable would happen. Arthur would bow to Bedivere’s continual insistence on an heir, therefore why prolong that same inevitable? Cut the tether now and not wait, that’s what he should do. Arthur would then find a woman of good breeding and spend his days with her, not a man who wasn’t getting any young—

“You were on the run for too long.”

Confused, William looked up. Bent over the baby crow, the mage had opened the leather pouch. Something wriggled in her fingers. Worms. Whether by magic or not, the leather pouch was filled with worms. “On the run?”

“All the…” The mage shrugged and then nudged the crow’s beak. The bird squawked and realized what was in the mage’s fingers. It gobbled up the worms. The mage cooed and then added, “Running all those years from Vortigern and the Black Legs—it made you suspicious and unsure of your own heart.”

Insulted, William demanded, “It did, did it?”

“It did,” the mage stated, “because it is not Arthur that is too happy, it is you. You want me to look into my glass so I can comfort you with the knowledge that you are right to leave him, that he will be better off without you.” She fed the chick another worm. “That this unbinding of your hearts will leave you both as you were. It will not. It is too late. Yes, he needs you and depends on you. If you broke that which is between you, it would hurt him deeply. But _you_ would be worse off and so I will not do this.”

Chest pained as if he had just been pierced with the swiftest of arrows, William couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I understand.” The mage stroked the chick’s beak with the back of her finger. “You watched him grow from child to boy to man. Of course it gives you pause. And it is hard to belong to some place again when you have had nothing.”

William sat back, insulted anew. “I beg your pardon?”

The mage shrugged one shoulder. “Arthur had his friends and family and Londinium. But you, living in your caves with no one to warm your bed, you had nothing and no one.”

William could only gape.

“You see?” the mage nodded. She straightened up. When she turned to William, her gaze was now dark, impenetrable. “You thought you were giving to him when all the while, he was giving to you. It might be good to think on it again, on this idea of cleaving that which is between you.”

“I—”

“Life is pain. You can not run from it.” The mage brushed off her fingers. “You should go. He will be looking for you. I will not tell him of this conversation.”

Dismissed as if he were a servant, William’s only choice was to stand up. He felt peculiar and unsteady, almost as if the mage had looked into her scrying pool after all and had told him things he hadn’t been ready to know and were probably quite true. He bowed. “My lady.”

The mage tipped her head. “My lord.”

As he was leaving, he glanced at the standing stone. The moon had risen above the trees and shone down on the stone’s flat face. The surface had been marked. William touched the mark. It was the sword-in-stone sigil, painted in blood long enough ago that the blood flaked off to fall on the ground. So, even here in this lonely place, the born king had come. He shivered in a kind of helpless awe.

The crow in the pine chortled and bobbed its head, making William feel worse.

***

The walk back through the forest eased the ache in William’s chest not at all. He was halfway up the hill when he heard a crash and then the sound of quick footfalls. Several someones were hurrying down the hill, not having a care for the night or the dangers underfoot. William waited by a crooked ash, only dully surprised when he spied Arthur scurrying down.

“Arthur?” William called out as Arthur leapt over a log.

Arthur skidded to a halt, looking all around.

William stepped from the tree’s protection. “I’m here.” Arthur was wrapped up in his bearskin cloak. The color blended with the night, with the sleeping forest.

Changing direction, Arthur hurried towards William. “Where have you been? I—” He stopped and shouted over his shoulder, “I found him! He’s here!”

There was an answering call that sounded like Percival.

“Where were you?” Arthur asked again, close enough now to grip William’s shoulders. “Hoel said you went to the privies but Garel said you headed in another direction.” He looked over William’s shoulder as if searching for a threat. “What happened?”

Ensnared amongst and between his lies and deeds, William swallowed.

“What is it?” Arthur urged.

Slowly, William clasped Arthur’s wrists. It was dark and they were standing at an angle. With his thick coat of fur, Arthur seemed more creature than man. “Not here. It’s cold and you missed your supper.”

“So did you.”

“Please.”

Arthur hesitated, then nodded shortly. “Very well. Come.”

William let Arthur go and stepped back. Only then did he see that Arthur’s escort had joined them and were standing some distance away, pretending disinterest.

***

Arthur’s tent was now empty of everyone but the green-clad attendants. They scurried about the outer chamber, clearing away the remains of the council.

Gerbaut hesitated at the door, a bundle of maps in his arms. “Shall I fetch the wine, my lord?”

“Yes,” Arthur said as he removed his cloak and handed it to the new boy, Claudin. “And Bedivere’s stew; make sure you bring two bowls.”

Not hungry but unwilling to say so, William stirred the coals in the brazier.

“Sire?”

It was Old Bran, coming in with a woman of even more years. “Pardon, my king,” Bran said with a tip of his head, “but this here’s one of the wise women that which healed your sick. She’s got something for you.”

The women curtseyed—a brief bend of her knees—and then came forward. She was holding a small clay pot that was sealed with wax. “It’s an unguent, my king. Whilst you was on the field, you took a fearsome blow to the back. This…” The women held up the jar. “…will set you up right.”

William came over as well. Her face creased with age, the women’s English was infused with the lilting cadences of his childhood.

Arthur took the pot and bowed. “Thank you. Will you thank your sisters for your care of my men?”

The woman curtseyed again. “Our pleasure, my lord.” She then glanced at William. _“Ydych chi’n ymhell oddi cartref,” _she said.

William raised an eyebrow at her lack of formal address but just bobbed his head. “Indeed I am, mother, as are you.”

The women smiled, showing stained and cracked teeth. But it was a sweet smile that made a lie of her age and William bowed once more, this time deeper.

He escorted Old Bran and the woman to the door. When he turned, he found Arthur watching him with a curious look in his eye. They held each other’s gaze in a moment that was both heady and peculiar. The moment stretched, darkened. William was searching for something to say because it suddenly seemed necessary when the tension was cleaved by the noisy appearance of Bedivere, Tristan, and Rubio. The former made for the chair by the brazier while the other two continued an argument as to whom Philia preferred best.

Still staring, Arthur gave his own bow as if conceding the field.

***

Their quiet evening meal turned into an impromptu fête.

Joined by the bulk of Arthur’s retinue and serenaded by the piper and tabourer, the reveler’s got drunk on sweet wine from Vorgium. Arthur held his own, of course, flushed from the alcohol and the heat of too many bodies.

William, for his part, tried to enjoy himself. Sitting at the end of the table, he drank and smiled and ate whatever was put before him.

Not seven hours prior and with only a relatively small loss of life, they’d routed a man who’d held sway in this region for decades. The win had invigorated the troops and burnished Arthur’s growing reputation. All in all and given the odds, it had been a good day.

Still, the conversation with the mage wouldn’t leave William and he was remembering, _‘But you, living in your caves with no one to warm your bed, you had nothing,’ _when a lull in the music and conversation made him look up.

Just like before, his gaze met Arthur’s, this time across twelve feet of table. Arthur was wearing his crimson colored surcoat over a new linen tunic. He’d unlaced both down to his breast and his collarbones gleamed in the shimmering light. Entirely beautiful and the world faded and the noise dimmed.

That night. The night William’s own world had changed.

It had been much like this, observing as Arthur enchanted his newborn court with affable charm. Under the same spell but fighting it because this was the Uther’s son, the boy and man William had protected from a distance all those years. Need and desire had pooled in his belly and William had finally retreated first to the Lady Creiddylad’s side and then young Elured’s, wishing the latter was the solution to his problem. It would be easy, if it had been so. Elured had made that clear more than a few times. But then, when Arthur had stalked from the tent, his face dark and aloof, William had hesitated, telling himself that it was better he stay and make do with a boy who smiled too much and leaned too close.

But he hadn’t. Like a moth to a flame, he’d gathered up a few treats he thought Arthur might enjoy and then followed, his heart beating loud in his ears.

Just like that night and William’s smile faltered.

In counterbalance, Arthur’s eyes brightened. And then he tipped his head and leaned back in his chair. “Hey!” he shouted. “You lot!”

Suddenly silent, everyone turned Arthur’s way.

“It’s been a fun day,” Arthur said with a smile, his call still ringing in the air. “But the battle isn’t yet won and it’s time to rest.” He stood and raised his cup. “My thanks for your skill and courage.” He drained the wine in a single go. “If you’re still inclined to drink too much, I’m sure my Lord Tristan wouldn’t mind moving this frolic to his tent.”

Tristan laughed and called out something that was lost in the renewed cacophony. As one, the crowd rose and trooped towards the door.

Tristan was the last to leave and as he passed Arthur, he leaned close and whispered something in Arthur’s ear. Arthur grinned as dazzling as the sun and clapped Tristan on the back. Tristan left; Arthur turned and gestured to the pages.

Once more, the attendants got to work.

***

The night watch had called second vigil by the time the tent was free of everyone but Arthur and William. William had retreated to his place by the brazier, a goblet filled with mulled wine in his hand.

“Well?” Arthur said. “What was that about?”

Arthur’s blanket, the one he used because it had been his parents’, was draped over a chair. The queen’s sewing women had made it but the queen had decorated it, stitching a weeping birch in the very center. William could still see Igraine by the sitting room window, surrounded by her ladies, the dull sun shining palely on her bent head as they sewed and chattered. “What was what about what?” William asked, mind’s eye still half blind to everything but the memory.

“You well know.”

William raised his head. The pages had moved the table off to the side; Arthur leaned against it. He was eating the last of the grapes brought over from Gaul by Erec of Lac for Erec’s very pregnant wife, Enide. “Do you mean,” William said, “where did I get off to earlier?”

Arthur paused, and then plucked a grape off the stem. “Of course, I do.” He ate the grape.

“No where. I felt like going for a walk.”

Arthur set the fruit on the table and then got a chair. He dragged it over to the fire but he didn’t sit in it. After a hesitation that wasn’t lost on William, he dropped to the floor, his back against William’s legs. “You did not,” Arthur corrected, his voice deep, hushed. “Where did you go?”

The brazier warmed Williams’s side but Arthur was hotter, easing the strain on the bad knee. It felt good and he sighed. And then sighed again, this time in mild vexation. He really didn’t want to reveal the information but, truly, there was nothing to hide, yes? “I went to see the mage,” William said. “She’s camped down in the forest. Near the river.”

“Oh,” Arthur said. “Yes, Percy told me she’d arrived.” He turned his head. “Why hasn’t she visited?”

“Because she wants the people to see that the victory is yours, not hers.” _No mythical creatures made from earth and stone, no ensorcelled vassals—just you in all your splendor._

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“But she does.”

Arthur thought on that, and then asked, “Did she foretell it? That we will be victorious?”

The curve of Arthur’s cheek and brow glowed orange from the dying fire. “She did.”

Arthur nodded. “Hm.”

He bent over. “You weren’t worried, were you?” When Arthur didn’t answer, William set the goblet down and cupped Arthur’s chin. “Were you?”

Arthur shrugged, dislodging Williams hold. “It’s my first real campaign. Of course I was worried. I still am.”

“My lord,” William murmured, remembering Arthur on the field atop the mare, Llamrei, eyes and sword shining ice blue, confident and joyous. One would never have thought… “In any case, she said she stayed away because she wasn’t needed, not for this battle nor the battle to come.”

“And that’s why you went? Truly?”

The mage’s advice had helped not one whit so how to say the words that had been living and building inside William’s breast ever since he’d given in and made that one night many nights? He was fond of plain speaking but he couldn’t make his tongue spit out the, _‘I went to seek her guidance in a matter concerning you. Because today I saw you for whom you truly will be, up on the mount, bleeding power and glory. Because it suddenly seems wrong, that I should be the obstacle to what is sure to be the kingdom’s prosperous future.’_

_‘Because my knee hurts and my back aches, only a little now but both will get worse as the years go by.’_

He could simplify it, of course, remarking on the obvious: _‘Because you’re in the spring of your life and I’m in the winter,’ _and let Arthur take it from there. Arthur wasn’t stupid. He would know immediately what that meant.

Arthur shifted, the blade of his shoulder digging into William’s knee. “Is it the others? Are you afraid of the gossip?”

William had heard the so-called gossip. Camelot was a swarming hive of people—it was impossible to keep a secret for longer than it took to tell one. Besides… “No. I have no care of what others think. Everyone knows of Dinadan and his friend; there’s been no effort at keeping them apart.” Other than Vortigern’s decree, of course—Vortigern had come for Dinadan after he’d murdered Uther. But that, of course, had nothing to do with Dinadan’s choice of bedmate. Vortigern had simply been cleaning house.

“Then what is it?” Before William could answer, Arthur half turned and said, “It was what Bedivere said, wasn’t it? About the Lord of Gorre’s daughter?” He smiled wanly. “Morvydd is a very charming girl but she’s not for me.”

_‘Charming girl’_ was putting it mildly. Tall and fair of face, Morvydd had silky black hair and bright brown eyes. Since her arrival with her twin, Owain, she had taken the court by storm. Over the past month, Bedivere had made much of Morvydd, endlessly singing her praises and commenting on her royal bloodline, so much so that William had been hard pressed to avoid barking, _‘If she’s so wonderful, why don’t _you_ marry her?’ _He’d held his tongue at each instance, mostly in deference to the Lady Margaret and partly because he hadn’t wanted to seem churlish. And so very obvious.

“Will?”

“No, it’s not about Morvydd.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

Arthur didn’t answer for a moment and when he did, his tone was flat, “I’ll decide for myself. Not Bedivere and certainly not Percival or Rubio.” Arthur’s smile thinned. “And not you, either.”

“I have no i—”

“Don’t.” Arthur twisted so that he was kneeling in front of William. “I know what this is all about though you’ve denied it at every turn. Will…” He gripped William’s thighs. “I need you. There’s still so much to do. Hueil mab Caw has been taken care of but Reince is waiting in the wings. And then there is Gaul and Brittany. We’ve so much to do, so much to _fix_._”_

“I understand just as I understand that—”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “It’s because of the battle, isn’t it? You got a taste of it and now you’re afr—”

William interrupted, his voice just as flat and low as Arthur’s, “You forget whom you’re talking to, my lord. I’ve seen more battles than you have years.”

It was a stretch of truth but Arthur didn’t challenge. He only clenched his jaw, the blue gleam muting to something less formidable but no less stubborn. He sat on his heels, his hands now resting on William’s good and bad knees. “So it _is_ because of Morvydd. It’s because of her and all she represents.”

Still feeling the edge of his own anger, William wouldn’t answer.

Arthur nodded, any kindness gone. “And you don’t think I’m smart enough or old enough to make up my own mind, is that it?”

“That’s not wha—”

“And because I’m such a lack wit,” Arthur pressed on, “you and I must have this dance every few months, even in the middle of what might be the most important—” Arthur released William. “You let our one night turn into many, the same as me,” he murmured, his gaze now accusatory but cloudy, as cloudy as the mage’s had been. “Those first few weeks, I’ve never been so happy. There were no more bad dreams with you. You helped keep those fools off my back. I trust you. I_—_”

Arthur cut off his words and when he looked at William; his gaze was no longer cloudy but steady, resolute. “I never told you what befell me in the woods that day, the day we escaped from Londinium.”

“No, you didn’t.” William hadn’t pressed, but then, he’d had other things on his mind. After Arthur had taken the crown, he’d chalked it up to some lesson learned and had thought no more about it. “What happened?”

“The sword, that’s what happened.” Arthur gave William a smile that held no mirth. “Because of it, Back Lack died, Lucy died. People lost their homes not to mention their lives because of the sword. It had brought me nothing but grief so I chucked it into the sea.”

“And?” William said after digesting that bit of disturbing information, wondering if Bedivere had known. “How did you retrieve it?”

“I didn’t. By magic, it came back to me.” Arthur turned his gaze to his hands. “It came back to me and I realized there was no running from it just as there is no running from whatever fate has in store for me. No matter how hard I try.”

William’s throat was as dry as Arthur’s sounded. Arthur’s words were so close to the mage’s; it almost seemed as if—

“I now believe in the sword, in my own destiny,” Arthur added, “just as I believe you and I are meant to be. You watched me from afar for a reason. I found you for that very same. You make my life bearable. I think I do the same for you.” He looked up. “But I’m weary of never knowing if and when you’ll scratch on my door. I’m weary of this constant back and forth. And so you must make a decision.”

“Which is?” William asked, his voice harsh as stone.

Once more, Arthur gripped William’s knees. “Pledge yourself to me as I have already to you. Leave off this nonsense and stand with me. _Stay _with me.”

Arthur’s grasp wasn’t kind nor gentle but William ignored the pain, instead focusing on, _‘Stand with me. Stay with me.’_

Said as if Arthur was completely alone, the perpetual orphan facing insurmountable odds and maybe that was the bare truth of it. The heart of it.

Arthur had grown from boy to man, surrounded by champions and companions that had loved him. He’d also grown up in an insulated world, plagued by nightmares and dangers, yes, but cushioned by the fact that it was _his _world, _his _dangers.

What must it have felt like to have one’s life ripped apart, not once but twice and by one’s own blood? Moreover, Camelot with its cold halls and gloomy forests must have been a rude awakening. No friends, no family, Arthur’s only champions a reluctant ring of vagabond royalty focused more on the promise of the sword than the sword wielder himself. Even Bedivere, so eager to have Arthur embrace his future, had ridden roughshod over Arthur’s wishes while at the same time smothering him with too much care and concern_. _Thinking for Arthur instead of letting him _think._

Too much while at the same time not enough and William remembered the day of Arthur’s birth, when a brown-plumed eaglet had taken up residence in a machicolation near Igraine’s window. The mage king had rejoiced, pronouncing the bird’s arrival as a sign and assurance that Arthur’s life would be blessed.

William also remembered the day he’d first arrived in Londinium after Uther’s fall, skulking into the city because his name was on every Black Leg’s list. He’d found Arthur right where Merlin had said, ensconced in the brothel on the bridge. Arthur, now a tow-headed five, was cleaning dirt off the brothel’s stoop. He was bundled up because of the cold and sweeping the broom slowly back and forth. Sharp laughter from the street had brought Arthur’s head up and even from his hiding place twenty feet away, William could see Arthur’s frown, see the bruise along his jaw and the healing cut on his temple.

Anger had warmed William’s chest. Merlin had said the boy would be safe among the women. He’d said they would treat him right…

Just then the brothel door had opened and a girl leaned out. She had gestured and then called Arthur’s name. Just like that, Arthur’s face changed and a smile bloomed. The girl smiled back. Arthur gave the porch one last go and then scurried inside.

So, William had realized, anger dying, not abused by the women but just reflective or maybe grouchy as children could sometimes be. But the bruises and the wound were signs and so he’d wait just to make sure…

He’d made sure, staying among the literal and figurative Londinium shadows long past the time he’d vowed to leave. He’d discovered that the boy was loved by the women but mistreated by the merchants and vendors. That he had enough to eat but only the plain, bland food of the poor.

And that was all right. As hard as it was, such a life would teach the boy to be tough, teach him to survive, because he’d need that instruction if Merlin’s prophecies were correct.

Still, it had been difficult, almost maddening, as William observed from a passive distance when a tanner had cuffed Arthur on the head for getting in his way, when a coppersmith did much the same.

William had left a sennight later, somewhat at ease that the boy was safe, unable to quench a silken thread of grief that the mage king had been wrong, that Arthur’s life was far from blessed.

“Well?”

He looked up. Arthur was still kneeling before him, head cocked. It was odd—William could still see the boy Arthur blended with this older Arthur, two together as if a trick of the light or fancy. He could still feel it, too, the anger, the sadness, remembering: ‘_If I had my way…’_

“What’s it to be,” Arthur prompted again.

Well, William _did _have his way, at least in this. He could remain in those shadows and give up what he wanted most for the good of the kingdom or he could step forth and stand with Arthur.

It wasn’t a choice, not really. He’d loved Arthur for far too long. It was, as the mage had stated, too late.

“Yes,” William said on a croak. He smiled ruefully and said it again, his voice now sure and strong. “Yes. You were right. It’s about Morvydd and all she represents. And yes, I will stand with you and stay beside you. No more back and forth, no more nonsense.”

Arthur’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Truly?”

William took a deep, clear breath. “Truly.”

“Do I have your word?”

“You have it, my king.”

Arthur then leaned up.

William met him.

Always sweet, Arthur’s lips were now made sweeter by the grapes, and William pressed in, opening Arthur’s mouth with his own. Impossible, that he could have ever thought of giving this up. Impossible that he’d ever even tried…

Arthur drew back. He blinked and then bent his lips in a soft smile. “You’re not bothered about the crowd outside?”

William licked his lips, tasting Arthur and the mulled wine. “No, but it’s hardly that. Most of the men are in bed. Or they damn well better be.”

“The cot is small.”

“You’re clever, Arthur. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

***

Arthur was indeed clever and a small time later, William found himself on his belly under the thick fur blankets with Arthur hot on his back.

***

“The wind is picking up. It will be snow by morning.”

“Hm,” William murmured.

“There’s no sense in waiting for Elafius to regroup. I told Bedivere to have the men ready by sunrise.”

“Hm, mm.”

“Your signet rings are going to be the death of me.”

William squinted, opening his eyes to guttering candles. Still on his stomach and covered by Arthur, his body was heavy and sluggish; he couldn’t imagine ever having the strength to do something as simple as pick up a bow much less draw it.

“An affliction of the blood will be the least of it.”

Across the back of Arthur’s fingers were three like scratches. They were shallow, of no account, but William pulled Arthur’s hand to him and kissed an apology on the torn skin. “I’ll remember next time,” he murmured, knowing he wouldn’t because that’s how it was, no thought for the niceties or gentleness, only for passion and the need for more of Arthur than could possibly be had.

“What did she say?”

Alongside the scratches was a long, mottled bruise. It snaked over Arthur’s wrist to disappear under the curve of his arm. It had to have happened during the heat of battle. Maybe when Arthur had dismounted to engage by hand. Once on foot, Arthur had moved fast, cutting through the dwindling adversaries like a farmer mowing a stand of high wheat. His bodyguards had been left behind; Bedivere had been so angry.

Picturing Bedivere’s ire, William absently kissed Arthur’s surprisingly delicate wrist, careful not to press too hard. “What did who say what?”

“The old woman. The old woman that brought me her foul smelling ointment. What did she say to you?”

“It smelled pleasant enough to me.”

“It smelled like a fetid pond.”

William snorted and then hitched his shoulder. Obligingly, Arthur slid off.

“Fetid pond or no,” William said as he rolled onto his side, “I’m going to put some on your back as soon as I can move again.” He pulled up the bedclothes, fussing with the linen sheet and furs. “Which won’t be anytime soon, mind you.”

“What did she say?” Arthur repeated.

“Nothing of any importance other than she told me I was far from home.”

Arthur said nothing for a moment and then he settled on his side, too. “Do you miss it?”

William didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “When I was younger, yes,” he said. “Camelot is my home, now.” Unspoken was his addition of, _‘You are my home, now.’_

Arthur smiled. “Stay the night?”

“I will if you answer my own question.”

“Have at it.”

William cupped Arthur’s cheek. “What did Tristan say to you as he was leaving?”

“He told me to not keep you at it too long. That we have an early start if we’re to catch up with Elafius and that you’re an old man in need of much sleep.”

“Old man, indeed.”

Arthur’s smile broadened to a smirk. “I didn’t want to tell him that it’s you that generally wears me out, not the reverse.”

Flattered in spite of himself, William allowed a small, pleased smile and said, “Turn over.” Arthur liked to sleep on his side with William curled up close behind. “So, yes,” he said, as soon as they were settled. “I will stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then tonight and all the nights after?”

Knowing Arthur had just thrown the glove down, that this was a test, William answered blandly as he pulled the covers around Arthur’s shoulders, “Yes. Tonight and all the nights after, my lord.”

“Good.”

Always faster off the mark, even in this, Arthur fell asleep quickly.

William closed his eyes, drawing sleep to him as he’d drawn Arthur close and he was on the slippery brink when he heard it again: ‘_Life is pain. You can not run from it.’ _

The mage was right. Arthur was right. But William was right, too. The inevitable _would_ happen. In time, Arthur would choose a suitable girl and marry her and have many children. And it would be painful, in all likelihood more than he could bear. But bear it he would. He’d follow Arthur’s lead and embrace his destiny, no matter how difficult the journey.

William must have made some involuntary movement because Arthur stirred and cocked his head. “What is it?” he mumbled.

William tightened his grip and kissed the back of Arthur’s neck. “It was just the wind. Sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Arthur fell back into sleep. William followed.

* * *

The mage waited until Sir William had gone before rising to her feet. She went to her chest and got her pewter bowl, and then closed the lid.

She’d chosen her campsite because of the power left by the standing stone and because the forest animals had carved a path to the waterway. She followed their tracks down to the river through the low-lying mist, her skirts catching on the dried bulrushes and bridewort.

When the mage got to the river’s edge, she crouched and scooped up enough water to matter, then held the bowl in the palms of her hands. She waited while the water stilled and her heartbeat slowed.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated, the mage glanced up at the moon. It wasn’t full, but full enough—the divination _should_ work.

She tried again, this time planting her knees in the sandy soil and fixing her gaze.

This time the vision came. Slowly, sluggishly, the water clouded and then trembled. An image appeared, grey as night and blurred as if seen through a thin veil. She was looking at a grass-covered island that harbored a single apple tree. Beneath the tree, back to the smooth bark, was Sir William. In his arms was the king.

The water trembled once more and with it, the image cleared and sharpened. Bleeding into reality, the mage could now see the color of the grass, the white blossoms and pink skin of the apple tree. She could see that William’s hair was shorter and completely grey; Arthur’s was longer and greying. Both men were garbed for war, both were bruised and bloody. Arthur’s eyes were closed as if fast asleep, but William—

William was awake, his face twisted with black grief. As the mage watched, William looked down at Arthur. Tenderly, he began to stroke Arthur’s hand, murmuring something too faint to hear.

The mage bent even closer but even as she did, the false world shimmered and the bowl began to hum, then sing. Before the mage could think to stop the divination, the bowl shuddered and the vision splintered, spewing light and color along with a deafening crack.

Thrown to her back, the mage waited while sight and sound returned.

She sat up. Whatever power the vision had produced had cast her away from the riverbank. It had also cracked the bowl in two. Ears still ringing, the mage crawled over to pick it up—it was cut as if by sword or very powerful magic. The mage pressed the two pieces together, seeing only the vision, cementing the details in her memory because Merlin was fond of details. The tree, the soft green grass, the king and the bowman, both older, both covered in blood.

It meant something, this dream, but she was wise enough to know when she needed assistance of one far wiser. And so she got to her feet and turned to the path, walking slowly, bent over and weary as if aged a hundred years.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'Arthur, Unbound.' Like that first story, I'm all over the place with history in general and Arthurian history (such as it is) specifically. One of my many liberties is that Goosefat is from Wales and the son of the local king. I've also played around with other characters (both factual and fictional), namely Elafius and Heuil mab Caw—I'm sure they were really nice guys.
> 
> The location of Mount Badon is not set in stone but I like the idea that it was somewhere around Bath (Aquae Sulis). The quote at the beginning of the story is from the 'Historia Brittonum.' I've got a crazy idea for a sequel in mind but it's crazy enough that it will take me some time to write.


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